


Compunction

by koldtblod



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Disclaimer I love Marlon (but he's a dick), F/M, I imagine I’m not the only person to think of these two as a couple?, Pre - Clementine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koldtblod/pseuds/koldtblod
Summary: Marlon and Brody arrive home on the night the twins disappeared.





	Compunction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really interested in the character of Marlon and I wanted to read about him in a way that was canon-compliant (aka, he definitely died in Episode 1). As a result, I wrote something for myself. Short, hardly sweet. Pre-Clementine. 
> 
> Thanks to Lauren who beta-ed this for me.

"Hey, where are the twins?"

Marlon can't bring himself to reply. He sees nothing but the gravel beneath his feet, hears nothing but the blood in his ears – except for that, and the worried shouts that accompany his and Brody's return. Alone. Without the other girls.

"Marlon?" come their voices.

"Are you hurt?"

"Where is Minnie?!"

He nearly barrels Willie over on the steps of the admin building, pushing him aside with little regard in his attempt to escape, and barges through the double doors into the cool heart of the school. He can't stay beside Brody, in case she starts to cry again; can't look Violet in the eye in case her emotions show too deeply; worst of all, can't speak to Louis in case he inspires something of the truth to come spewing out of Marlon's mouth.

Louis always has that kind of effect, and Marlon couldn't stand it if he knew.

He locks himself into the office instead, leaving Brody to answer the questions, and throws the crossbow down at his feet. There's no blood on his arrows, nor evidence on the bow of the fight they'd fabricated as a cover-up – there's just a clump of Sophie's beautiful red hair, clinging to the bolts. The memory alone, of the sound it made against the back of her head, is enough to send Marlon sprinting to the trashcan to empty his stomach.

The wound in his side throbs as he heaves. He clutches the desk beside him with one hand, and to the wound with the other. Blood seeps between his fingers. Marlon isn't even sure when it happened. He can only hear their voices, Sophie's crying and Minnie's pleading, over and over again,

_Marlon, please – don't let them do this!_

His hand is shining scarlet when he brings it up. But there's no going back, no fixing what's been done.

He stumbles away from the desk, dropping to his knees beneath the window instead and propping himself against the wall. He lets the hunger in his stomach knot with the throbbing of his blood and presses his fingers against the wound so hard he thinks he might pass out.

Marlon doesn't know for how long he sits.

The room grows dark around him.

Several times he thinks he hears crying, shouting, from the corridor outside, but even then it might only be in his head. The world spins in and out, and he feels his breathing straining; a sweat forming over his forehead. 

It is only when the pain becomes too much and the blood has leeched through the cotton of his t-shirt, and it's the very middle of the night, that he lets Brody quietly back inside. She comes ashen-faced but armed with medical supplies – spirited, secretly, from Ruby's organised cupboard. Marlon is gasping for breath when she strips him of his t-shirt, peeling the sodden fabric away from the gash, but the cold air is a relief against his heated skin, and Marlon barely shivers when Brody lies him back against the naked floorboards so that she can tend to the wound. Her stitches aren't neat, and Marlon knows she'll be leaving a scar, but it's better to keep it between them alone.

"We can never tell anyone," he says, through gritted teeth.

His fists are balled by his sides, his elbows scratching against the wood.

Brody nods. She looks terrified, glancing up between her work, with drained cheeks and lips, and hands streaked with Marlon's blood. She flinches when he rolls his shoulders.

"Everythin' I did," Marlon goes on, "was for our own good... for everyone here..."

"I know," Brody whispers, but her voice is small and afraid.

She might even be afraid of _him_ – of another black eye, like the last time she questioned his motives. It's getting difficult to tell as of late. Marlon knows that he raises his voice to her far too often, and maybe his hand more times than is necessary. But he doesn't mean it. The problem is that he knows it should bother him because Brody has always been _his girl_, and he's supposed to protect her from the kind of person that he's becoming.

Still, she returns when he's all patched up, and she's secured a layer of gauze over his stomach and helped him pull on a cleaner t-shirt. She curls tenderly against Marlon's side, sliding her head up beneath his chin, and once there Marlon feels her tears dampen his chest when she begins to cry.

He can barely manage to bring his arm around her shoulders, in the masquerade of comfort that he knows she desperately needs. It's as if he's watching them both from above instead.

Something's closed inside of him.

He can still picture Sophie and Minnie's faces – can still hear their screaming and crying, as they were dragged by the raiders – but it's dulled now. Distant. And only then does Marlon realise that Brody has lifted her head, and is watching him as if for an answer.

He doesn't know what she's said; doesn't know what words nor comfort she's expecting. Instead, he hisses,

"Just don't fuckin' tell anyone!"

And feels the twist in his wound when panic flashes over Brody's eyes. Another fat tear slips over her cheek and she nods hastily.

"No," she says, "I won't, I promise I won't –"

"Brody..." Marlon says more softly.

His voice is quaking, with the very effort, but he reaches out to show he means no harm. Her breath near chokes in her throat and Brody lets out a sob as she crawls back to him, fearful yet needy.

"I'll think of somethin'," Marlon says. "I swear."

"Do you think they'll ever escape?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"I just keep watching it over in my head, seeing how scared they were... and Sophie's face..."

"Brody."

"You hit her so hard –"

"Just... shut up! Stop talking about it."

She falls quiet again. Marlon slowly releases his balled fist from her jacket, and Brody turns her head into his chest. When he feels her begin to tremble, something finally shakes loose within him. At last a weight drops from Marlon's heart into his stomach and he turns properly to wrap Brody in his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and his cheek against hers.

Guilt, so heavy it could smother them both where they lay, finally takes hold.

"It's what's best," Marlon tells her, but his voice comes out broken and distorted; sounds so frightfully unsure, so unlike himself, that now even he struggles to believe it. "I've bought us some time," he says. "They'll leave us alone."

Brody nods stiffly against his chest. Marlon knows she'll never say it, but she wants so desperately to trust him; to think that they've done the right thing. Her conscience is far clearer than his, and Marlon hopes to hell that she'll keep her side of the bargain. 

In the morning they'll formulate a new lie to tell, a tale to spin to absolve them of guilt and responsibility. And everyone will think that Marlon is so brave, as he looks at Tenn and tells him that his sisters – his dear, sweet sisters – were taken, not given to raiders, but by walkers.

And they'll hold a funeral. And no one will ever know.

As the hours draw on, and Brody falls into restless sleep, Marlon can only stare at the ceiling**, **waiting for the night to be over. He tries to remember if any other night had ever been so dark, or felt so long, and he thinks of the twins, alone and afraid. When dawn finally breaks, Marlon knows what he has to say.

He retells the story with two fingers crossed diligently behind his back, and eyes that sting with the threat of unshed tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me that this was an easy decision for Marlon to make, because I don't think it was.
> 
> There's a lot to say about his character. I think he died too soon, but I definitely saw a lot in the short time he was with us. He's scared, he's angry, he has a volatile mix of emotions and he's selfish, too. We play as Clementine who, depending on what you make of her, is quite consistent in putting other's first. _Of course_ we hate Marlon for lying, for taking advantage of the group's trust, but I don't think it's unrealistic.
> 
> Thanks for any reviews, comments, bookmarks etc. They mean the world.


End file.
